


A Solo Argument

by lunaseemoony



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Gen, Gift Fic, Halloween Costumes, Kid Fic, Star Wars References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaseemoony/pseuds/lunaseemoony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and his five-year-old have a disagreement over Halloween costumes. It goes as well as can be expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Solo Argument

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanluvr (Bria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bria/gifts).



> Happy Birthday hanluvr! I hope this is okay. :)

Ten weeks until Halloween. Three costumes. One sewing machine that the Doctor _would_  tame if it was the last thing he ever did. At the end of the day a pattern was no different from a blueprint. Instead of making a sonic screwdriver from metal he was making costumes from fabric. Easy. All the same, the Doctor had a much more profound appreciation for the TARDIS’s own sewing machine. Evidently she’d been doing a lot of the work for him over the years. But that wouldn’t be a deterrent in the slightest! Rose wanted the Doctor to make costumes for Halloween so their baby girl could go trick-or-treating. And what the two women in his life wanted they usually got. 

Most of the time. 

“Wait why are you picking up that white fabric?” Molly asked.

The Doctor stuffed the course creamy-colored bolt of fabric in the trolley and started moving on before answering. “For you, of course.” 

Molly whirled around and stopped the trolley dead in its tracks, leaping onto it like a lioness would a gazelle ready to make the kill. “Daddy we talked about this.” 

He pulled out his pattern from his jacket pocket, fished his specs from the other pocket and shoved them onto his nose as he snorted at his daughter through the paper, mumbling a quick calculation. “We did. And we decided you’re going to be Rey, remember?” 

Molly rolled her eyes in precisely the same way as her mother with a matched level of determination (which was a kinder word than what he was thinking, sass). Eight or nine years down the road he’d be in for an interesting ride, he thought with a grimace. 

“ _You_  decided I’d be Rey. I’m gonna be Han Solo.” 

He kept the trolley moving, continuing to peruse the cornucopia of fabrics while they argued. “You can’t be Han Solo, Molly. You’re a... You’re sma- . No. You can’t be Han Solo.”

“I’m a girl? I’m small?” she quipped. 

She was too clever for her own good. At least when she was like this she was.

“That’s not what I meant. Besides, your mum is Leia.”

“Pregnant Leia.”

“Same difference.” 

“Is not. It’s not the same.” 

Next year they were purchasing costumes, for the love of Gallifrey. 

“Is too,” he fought in a playful tone, poking his nose out from his pattern in front of his face.

“Is not. Mummy needs more fabric because her tummy is bigger. She told me to remind you because you’d forget.” 

Bless Rose. He would’ve forgotten. He turned the trolley around. Whatever was left of her bolt of fabric he’d picked out wouldn’t be enough. Point to Molly on that one. 

“All right well... yes. You’re right on that. But not on Han Solo. Who would I be if you’re Han Solo?”

“You can be C-3PO,” Molly offered with a broad grin. She’d thought this out. 

“No.” 

Molly hopped off the end of the trolley and planted her feet in front of it, arms folded. The Doctor took a deep breath and set his pattern down. “Either I’m Han Solo or I’m not going.”

“You wouldn’t get any sweets.”

She looked around, feigning indifference at a nearly professional level. Nearly. “I don’t care.”

The Doctor flashed her another pattern, one he’d intended to keep a surprise. “You wouldn’t get a lightsaber.”

“It has to make the sounds and light up.”

Scandalized, he snorted again with a raise of his brow. “Of course.”

“You got a deal. As long as I can be Han Solo next year.”

"Done."


End file.
